


Endure

by Pic_Akai



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, M/M, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-06 02:11:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pic_Akai/pseuds/Pic_Akai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alpha!Mycroft and Omega!Lestrade get locked into a room together as Lestrade goes into heat. The inevitable occurs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Endure

**Author's Note:**

> WELL. This is awkward. For no apparent reason I had the insistent desire to write porn - specifically, omegaverse - and eventually I gave in. I couldn't do just the sex because my brain doesn't work that way, but I did manage it in there somewhere, and I am very apprehensive about its quality because I never do sex for sex's sake. I actually generally find writing sex incredibly boring, but this, er, wasn't.

Lestrade entered the office at half past six, hungry, grubby and irritated. He'd spent the morning chasing Sherlock around Pimlico, forever two steps behind (mentally; physically he was often hours behind) and the afternoon completing the paperwork which had been generated by the result of the Sherlock-chasing. Greg was glad to have finally caught up to the nasty little scrote who was selling all kinds of disturbing things which weren't his to sell, but he could have done without having to complete a form detailing exactly what happened when Sherlock met the man and realised he'd stolen from one of Sherlock's homeless network.

Not, of course, that the form resembled in any way what had actually happened, apart from the fact that Sherlock and the man and Lestrade had all been present, but he'd still had to fill the bastard thing in.

After that day, all he wanted to do was get home, have a long hot shower and then collapse on the sofa with the remote and some Chinese takeaway. He'd been feeling rough for the past few days as well, which hadn't helped his mood, but it was Friday so he had the weekend to sleep it off if he so wished, and he very much did.

Naturally, what he was doing instead of going home was entering the office of one Mycroft Holmes. Lestrade knew full well that this office was not by any means Mycroft's only office, nor was a request to meet Mycroft at this office anything other than an order. It had been a few months since he'd last seen the man, so Greg supposed it was about time for Mycroft to set him some ridiculous task for the sole purpose of keeping Sherlock busy. This did, Greg had to admit, have the intended consequence of keeping the country running smoothly (or rather, as smoothly as Mycroft and his ilk thought it was appropriate for it to run). It was still difficult to keep that in mind when he was awake at half four in the morning arguing with Sherlock over whether or not he was allowed to slip a type 2 diabetic a mountain of hidden sugar in order to potentially solve a case.

Lestrade (he would be Lestrade until he got home, because Lestrade was his work self and Greg his home self, and he certainly wasn't here for the pleasure of Mycroft's company at the moment) had been waved through by the door security after a cursory glance at his ID, and passed Mycroft's assistant in his outer office without her so much as looking up at him. Sometimes she acknowledged him, even engaged in conversation, but today wasn't one of those days by the looks of things and Lestrade was glad of it.

The door to Mycroft's office was already half open, which Lestrade knew meant he could walk straight in, so he did so. Despite that, he knocked quickly on the door even as he entered; it felt rude otherwise.

"Gregory," Mycroft greeted him genially, raising his head, but suddenly he froze, a frown on his face. He sniffed the air once, sharply.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow at him and otherwise ignored this behaviour, crossing the room to fall into the chair across the desk from Mycroft. He had long since learned that the best way to deal with unorthodox behaviour from Holmeses was to ignore it. If they wanted you to understand it they'd explain it (and in Sherlock's case, berate you at the same time for not having understood it) and if they didn't want you to understand it, you hadn't got a hope in hell of working it out for yourself.

"What's up?" Lestrade asked through a sigh, conveying the mood he was in, not that Mycroft wouldn't already know it from CCTV footage and texts between him and Sherlock and the particular hue of Lestrade's left ear or whatever else.

"I don't believe this is the right time to have this discussion, Gregory," Mycroft replied. He still had that odd look on his face and he hadn't relaxed. Lestrade could see him clearly inhaling deeply again, but trying not to show it now. "Perhaps tomorrow?"

"Sod that," Lestrade said. "You called me in here after the day I've had, you'd better have a damn good reason."

"It's not that I don't, I assure you. It's just that, perhaps, later would be more...appropriate?"

"Mycroft," Lestrade growled, "if you want something from me, you'd better tell me now. Otherwise I'm buggering off and you won't see me until Monday at the absolute earliest, no matter how many non-descript cars you send."

"Quite," Mycroft said, and he looked uncomfortable. That was a new one. "I'm sorry, I just want to be sure we'll both be able to conduct this conversation in the most productive manner."

"If you don't tell me what you actually want, this conversation is going to be concluded pretty bloody sharpish."

Mycroft's features smoothed out at that, like he was made of waxwork. Creepy as hell, Lestrade thought it, but it did mean he'd decided to just go with it.

"Yes," Mycroft said. "I'm sorry. This weekend, as you may already know, my-"

He was interrupted by a loud, wailing klaxon, an alarm the likes of which Greg hadn't heard before. It was insanely loud, and he instinctively covered his ears, finding it painful. "Jesus christ!" he said, shocked. "What the fuck is that for?"

Mycroft, having recovered from his own shock in less than half a second, had leapt up from the desk and run - actually run; Greg wished he'd had a video camera for that - towards the door. Greg watched as he pulled at the handle futilely. Mycroft then turned and Greg followed his panicked-looking gaze towards the windows. He strode across the room towards them, but Greg noticed that the two which had been slightly open when he came in were now shut, and though Mycroft tried all of them, they all seemed to be locked closed.

After a minute or so, the alarm thankfully ceased. Lestrade removed his hands from his ears, reminded himself he wasn't seven years old and sat up properly again. "Thank god for that," he said, ears still ringing. "What the fuck was that about?"

Mycroft didn't answer. He was still stood by the farthest window, looking very unlike himself, or at least any version of him Lestrade had ever seen. Lestrade repeated his question, and Mycroft startled.

"It was the security alarm," he said, recovering quickly. "To alert the building's occupants to the fact that there is an unauthorised person on the premises."

"They couldn't just phone? Send a text?"

Mycroft smiled tightly for a moment. "This is the most efficient method."

"Right. They've caught 'em pretty quick, I suppose."

"How do you know?"

Lestrade frowned. "I assumed, since the alarm had stopped..."

"It stops only because to have it continue until the intruder was found would be tiresome in the extreme. When the threat has been eliminated, it will sound again for a few seconds."

"The all clear," Lestrade mused, then asked, "So the door and the windows are still locked?"

"Yes," Mycroft said, and this time he sounded very tight. "The system is...almost impenetrable."

Lestrade was missing something here, he knew. He was starting to get a headache, too, but he wasn't sure if that was from the alarm or Mycroft or just his bad luck. "Why did you bother checking them, then?"

"I had hoped that they wouldn't seal quite so efficiently."

"Why?"

Mycroft genuinely shifted on his feet. "Because if they hadn't, it would have given me a chance to get out."

"And leave me stuck in here for who knows how long? Cheers, Mycroft."

Mycroft paused before he spoke again. "That would have been preferable, yes."

"Thanks a lot!" Lestrade was definitely irritated now, if he hadn't been before.

"It's not personal, Gregory. Surely you understand that the alternative -" and then he stopped himself. "You don't know?"

"Know bloody what? Look, compared to you I'm a drooling moron so let's just assume that whatever you know, I don't."

"You're not a moron, Gregory," Mycroft said, sounding bizarrely earnest, and then returned to the point. "How do you feel at the moment?"

"Pissed off."

"I mean physically."

Greg went through his feelings, mentally cataloguing them. "Hungry. Tired. Got a headache. Sweaty, dirty, and..." he frowned, "kind of itchy, but nowhere in particular." He shifted in his seat.

Mycroft was looking at him with an odd expression, and then he said, "Unless I am very much mistaken, Gregory, and I tend not to be - you are going into heat."

Greg laughed.

Mycroft didn't.

"Sorry, come again?" Greg said. "Did you just say I'm going into heat?" He wasn't surprised that Mycroft knew he was an omega. Dynamic wasn't talked about in the workplace; you were supposed to be able to know how to control yourself and work around any issues your body gave you. An alpha that was overcome by an urge to knot an omega while at work (and especially within the police force) was derided at best, seen as a liability at worst (and promptly removed from duty). Sometimes people worked it out, based on latent scents and the times their colleagues took off work, but mostly you just didn't talk about it. But Mycroft could probably tell Greg the colour of his first baby blanket, so his dynamic was nothing.

"You are," Mycroft said, and he sounded more sure of himself this time.

"I've been on the same suppressants for the last fifteen years," Greg replied. "They actually stopped making them here so I get them sent from France because I get side effects from most of the others sold here. I haven't had a heat since I was in my thirties."

"You are having one now."

"How the hell do you know?" Greg snapped at him.

"Do I really need to explain my methods, Gregory?" Mycroft replied. "You trust me in so many other areas. At the moment it is imperative that we find a way to deal with this issue - because it is an issue - before it becomes too difficult to think clearly." _And_ , it went unspoken, _I knot you and flood you full of come_.

Greg stared for several long moments, aware that he probably looked quite stupid and unattractive at the moment but not caring in the slightest about that. Now that he thought about it...he could feel his temperature had risen in the last few minutes. The itch was more pronounced, but it didn't feel like the onset of heats he'd had when he was younger. Perhaps it was just a bad batch of suppressants with weird, heat-mimicking side effects...but he didn't want to stick around to find out.

Fifteen minutes later Greg's skin was clammy and felt like it was crawling. He and Mycroft had scoured every inch of the small space and found absolutely no way out. Any potential intruder wasn't getting in, but they were going nowhere either.

They had also failed to come up with a way to keep themselves apart. There was little in the room apart from the desk, two chairs, a couple of filing cabinets and a bookshelf. Even a makeshift wall wouldn't last two minutes when Greg was in full heat. That much, he remembered. One of his flatmates in his twenties had once broken down two doors to get to him, and had only been stopped by the fact that another alpha was already there when he entered the bedroom, and was quite happy to fight for Greg.

Well, not so much for Greg as for the right to try to breed him, because when three mornings later came and his heat was over, she left without so much as a, "See you next month," but that had been fine by him. If he'd been looking for a relationship he wouldn't have gone cruising in a bar just hours before he knew he'd become insensible.

"I don't think there's a way out," Greg said finally, voicing what both of them had known, really, from the beginning. He stood in one corner and Mycroft in the corner diagonally opposite. "I think we're stuck here."

"We can't be," Mycroft said, almost desperately. Greg could see he'd started to sweat and as he spoke, he pulled his tie off. He and Mycroft had occasionally had a few laughs here and there, mostly at Sherlock's expense, but he'd never seen the man this ruffled, this unguarded. It was both unnerving and strangely alluring. Mycroft Holmes, the man behind the mask.

Then again, that could be the hormones talking.

"Well we are," Greg said, shortly, because they did need to talk about this before they couldn't any more, "so let's...work out how this is going to go."

Mycroft looked at him. "It's simple biology, Gregory," he said, sounding sad. "We don't have a great deal of choice."

"We can choose to fight it," Greg pointed out. "And it'll happen anyway, but probably with a lot more teeth marks and scratches." He rolled his shoulders, trying to get the itch away. It didn't help, and he took his jacket off without thinking about it. His tie had disappeared on the drive from the Yard to here; he unbuttoned the button below the collar.

When he looked at Mycroft again the other man looked as if he was almost in pain, and Greg frowned. "Look, this wouldn't be my ideal choice, either," he said. "I was on bloody suppressants for a reason, you know. You could try to look a bit less like this is the end of the world."

"I apologise," Mycroft said quickly, and to give him his due, it sounded honest. Then again you could never be a hundred per cent sure with Holmeses. "I don't mean to insult you, Gregory. If - if I had to endure this with anyone there are very few I would trust to do so, and you are one of them."

"Endure," Greg repeated, because he wasn't letting him get away that easily.

Mycroft's features pinched again. "I haven't - I don't make a habit of indulging in my dynamic's desires."

"I didn't think you were the sort," Greg said, and found that he was a couple of steps closer to Mycroft than he had been moments before. He deliberately walked back to his corner, and thought carefully about how to phrase this. "But you - you've done it before?"

Mycroft nodded sharply. He didn't offer any more information, and Greg wasn't happy about it, but he was fairly sure asking wasn't going to get him anywhere.

He felt the first sure sign that his heat was actually starting - this was not some sort of psudeo-heat brought on by duff drugs - as his whole body suddenly tingled, awash with chemicals. He basked in it for a moment, the pre-orgasm giving him some idea of how great it was going to feel when he had a hard alpha cock knotting inside of him. When he came to what remained (for the moment) of his senses, he registered the feeling of being wet. Really very wet.

He glanced at Mycroft as he began to undo his belt. There was no point remaining clothed now; it was a matter of minutes before nature would overtake both of them and clothes that got in the way would just end up ruined.

Mycroft hadn't moved, but he was coiled as tight as a spring. Even his hands were clenched.

"You might as well get your kit off," Greg said, trying to sound empathetic rather than wildly turned on. He could smell Mycroft now, and he smelled divine.

Mycroft made an unhappy-sounding noise, but when Greg's trousers and briefs hit the floor and he started on his shirt, Mycroft began to work at his own waistcoat buttons.

A minute later Greg was naked. Mycroft was shirtless and stepping carefully out of his trousers and underwear. Greg had to stop himself from rushing forward and simply jumping into Mycroft's arms, impaling himself on the huge cock that had just been unveiled. He wanted to - _god_ , he wanted to - but the rapidly diminishing part of his mind which was still sensible needed to be sure that Mycroft was okay first. Or at least okay as he was ever going to be.

"Are you ready?" Greg asked, because it was pointless asking, "Do you want this?" because it was going to happen no matter what they did. Even if the intruder broke in now, unless he was an alpha that was willing to fight Mycroft - and Greg didn't think anyone could be that stupid - his presence wasn't going to make a bit of difference to what was going to happen between them.

"Yes," Mycroft said quietly, nodding. He'd placed his clothes carefully on the bookshelf and had his hands down by his sides, completely at odds with the huge cock jutting out from between his legs.

"Thank god," Greg sighed, and moved forward. He was dripping wet now, could feel it dribbling down his legs and he needed this cock more than he'd needed anything before. Mycroft was coming at him, too, and they collided in the middle of the room. Mycroft's hands grabbed at Greg's upper arms; Greg pulled Mycroft's head down for a hard kiss with his left hand and with his other, pulled him closer. Mycroft's hard length pressed hot against his body and smeared precum across his abdomen. He moaned into Mycroft's mouth.

"Get on the floor," Mycroft said, about two ocataves deeper than normal, and when Greg managed to drag his eyes open he saw nothing of the calm, composed man he normally met. He shivered with anticipation and his hole leaked a pulse of fluid as his cock jerked too. It was nothing in comparison to Mycroft's but it was enjoying the friction very much.

"How do you want me?" Greg breathed, aiming to drop to the floor but having to stop on the way down to appreciate the alpha cock that was going to knot him. He grasped it in both hands and sucked at the very tip. Mycroft growled.

He gripped hard at the back of Greg's head, his fingers winding through short strands of hair, and held Greg against his cock for several moments. Greg wasn't about to complain.

When he spoke, it sounded like it was being ripped out of him. "I don't care," Mycroft said. "I'll take you any way you come. Any way I want. We can start with your needy arse up in the air, dripping lubricant all down your legs and just aching for me to fill you up, and I'll fuck you into the carpet. Then after my knot goes down I'll flip you over and fuck you again so you have matching rug burns on your back and your chest.

"I will bend you over that desk and fuck you into it. I'll sit in my chair and have you ride my cock like a fucking rent boy, because that's all you are, isn't it, Gregory? A dirty little whore, just needing to be filled. And I'm here to do it."

There were two solid seconds of silence when he had finished speaking, where Greg processed all of this, staring up as Mycroft's mouth was held tightly shut, and his eyes remained closed.

Then Greg whimpered - that was new - and Mycroft's eyes opened. He looked half-crazed.

"Take me," was all Greg could say in response, and he did drop this time, rolling in the same movement so that his arse was up in the air, just as his alpha had requested. He offered up his hole for Mycroft to fill and it wasn't in vain, because after a moment filled with what sounded like a snarl, there was hard, hot, glorious pressure at his entrance, and then Mycroft was in.

Greg's hands fisted in the carpet. It didn't stop him from moving anywhere but he needed to feel like he had something to hang onto because his sanity was being fucked out of him. Mycroft laid over him like a blanket, and his huge thick alpha cock filled him to the point where it was just on the edge of pain. Greg could hear the wet noises they made as their thighs slapped together on Mycroft's thrusts, and his hole lubricated the cock liberally. His own hardness was beginning to leak too, come dripping on the carpet beneath him. He wanted to bring a hand up to fist himself but didn't think he could keep his balance if he did so.

"You're - " he heard Mycroft start to speak, and then stop. Greg had a feeling he knew what was coming.

"Say it," he ground out, pushing his arse back onto Mycroft's cock. He could feel the knot starting to form now, growing larger and meaning that every thrust back in was that bit more uncomfortable. He was stretched around the huge cock and it was all he'd ever wanted.

"I - I can't," Mycroft said, sounding like it was taking all of his effort not to.

"Yes you can," Greg said. "Tell me."

"You're a dirty little slut," Mycroft spat out, and Greg groaned in response. "You're just a fithy fucking whore, desperate for any alpha that'll give you their cock. All you want is to be filled and bred because you're not good for anything else. And that's what I'll do, I'll breed you. I'll fuck you until you can't walk and then I'll fuck you some more, because I can. You are my fuck toy, Gregory, do you understand? You are nothing more than a hole for me to put my sperm in."

Greg whined as the knot pushed past the resistance of his anus for the final time, locking them together, and Mycroft - god knows how - managed to bring a hand around to Greg's cock, fisting it awkwardly even as he began to come. Greg imagined it how it looked, held himself taut as Mycroft's cock pumped streams of alpha seed inside him. He tightened his muscles around the length, felt it pulse in response.

"I'm filling you up now," Mycroft growled in his ear. "Can you feel that, Gregory? This is my seed filling your needy, greedy little arse up. I'm fucking a baby into you as I speak, and you're just desperate for it, aren't you? All you want is to be bred, to be impregnated, to be fucked into oblivion," he pulled Greg hard against him at this, not that they could get any closer, and Greg could only pant heavily in response, "and I am the alpha to do it. Whose are you, Gregory?"

"Yours, Mycroft, yours," he gasped.

"What do you want?"

"Your - fuck! - your seed, Mycroft. Your cock. Anything. Everything." Mycroft fisted his cock hard one last time, and it sent two jets of semen across the carpet, Greg's hole tightening at the same time.

It was another minute or two before they could bear to move, and then when the pulses from Mycroft's cock became less frequent, Mycroft moved them so they were lying on their sides. He nosed at Greg's hairline, wrapped his legs around Greg's. Greg felt like he'd never been safer, never been more desired or more useful in his life.

"Do you promise you'll give me a baby, Mycroft?" he asked, suddenly needing to know.

"I promise," Mycroft said, kissing below his ear. "I'll make sure you leave this room pregnant even if I have to keep my cock inside you for a whole week. I might just do that anyway, because your hole fits so nicely around it."

Greg twisted his head to try to see Mycroft. "You like my hole?"

"I love it," Mycroft replied, and another pulse of come joined the fluid inside of Greg's passage. "You were made to take my cock, and you will."

"Yeah," Greg sighed, reassured.

The heat lasted for two incredibly intense days. Usually Greg's lasted longer, but there was nothing for them to do in between bouts of fucking: no food to eat, a very limited supply of water and practically nothing else in the room apart from each other. Biology apparently decided that this meant they would spend as much time as possible locked together.

They'd heard the alarm for the all-clear around their third round, but Greg only found out why they hadn't been disturbed when Mycroft finally opened the door and his assistant stood there, eyes on the phone she was texting on in one hand. In her other hand she held a bag she handed to Mycroft. They didn't speak to one another and he closed the door.

Greg was too tired to do much more than follow Mycroft's lead. He decided not to bother being creeped out by the fact that there was a full set of clean clothes in his size in the bag, and concentrated on wiping himself down as much as he could with Wet Wipes.

"There is a shower available," Mycroft said quietly as he cleaned himself similarly, "but it's down the corridor."

"This'll do for now," Greg said, and once he felt at least not quite so sticky, he pulled the clothes on.

"There's food in the bag," Mycroft said, and Greg recognised how ravenous he was. He brought the bag to the desk and dumped the contents out, then spent the next five minutes doing nothing but inhaling sandwiches and fruit.

Finally he had space to breathe between bites. "How did she know what happened?" he asked.

Mycroft, across the desk from him, was eating a sandwich in a manner which suggested that he was having a lunch date in a tea room, rather than that he'd just spent two days ploughing into someone's arse.

"She monitors me," Mycroft said, "for safety."

"Well, thanks for that creepy image," Greg said, and began to peel a tangerine.

They spent another few minutes in silence before Mycroft spoke again. "I apologise, Gregory," he said, hands folded in front of an apple he'd carefully sliced.

"What for?" Greg frowned.

Mycroft looked at him for a moment in what Greg was dead sure was absolute confusion. He grinned. He couldn't help it. The look was too alien.

"For - for being quite unlike myself," Mycroft got out. "For...speaking to you in that manner, and for...well, I know we couldn't quite help ourselves but anyway, I'm sorry that it had to happen."

"Oh," Greg said. "Right." He cleared his throat. "All right."

Mycroft studied him; he knew it was happening and concentrated on opening a bottle of 7 Up. "I seem to have upset you."

"No," Greg shook his head. "No, you're all right." He flashed the other man a brief, very fake smile.

"My apologies are sincere," Mycroft said, sounding like he really needed Greg to believe that.

"Yeah, I know," Greg said. There was a pause, and then he sighed, resigned himself to being honest because it didn't seem fair, after what had happened, to keep it to himself. "I just, you know, it wasn't all bad, was it?" He looked up, but Mycroft's face was blank. "I'm just saying, I know it wasn't planned or anything, but I didn't actually _mind_ it. I mean...a lot of it I actually quite enjoyed. Not so much - not if I'd known you weren't enjoying it too, but obviously, at the time, you're quite out of it."

An awkward silence stretched on for far too long before Mycroft said, "I did enjoy it, Gregory." Greg looked up. "I enjoyed it rather more than I expected to, much more than I am accustomed to. I'm sorry that..." he paused. "I seem to feel the need to apologise," he said finally, "but you seem fairly at ease with the situation."

"Yeah."

"In which case, perhaps it is simply better that I thank you."

Greg smiled at him. "You're welcome, you daft sod." He laughed at the look on Mycroft's face. He would happily bet a grand that no one had ever referred to Mycroft Holmes as a daft sod before.

"Everything I said, however," Mycroft continued, and they both sobered, "was not necessarily what I believe now - hormones, I assume you understand." Greg nodded. "There is the matter of the..."

It took Greg a while to catch up, which he blamed on the previous two days of mindblowing sex. "Oh! The baby," he said suddenly, and watched as Mycroft looked amazingly uncomfortable. "Yeah, I was just planning on getting the MAP." He frowned. "You are okay with that?"

Mycroft smiled for the first time in a long while. "More than okay," he replied. "While...while I am sorry that your heat suppressants failed, as obviously you did not intend for them to do so, it seems the result was at least satisfactory."

"It was bloody excellent," Greg sighed. "Listen, I don't want this to sound presumptuous or anything, so feel free to say no, I'm just throwing it out there...what are you doing in about a month's time?"

"I'll have my assistant clear my schedule," Mycroft replied.

**Author's Note:**

> I adore concrit (and especially would love it for this because porn is not my usual comfort zone).


End file.
